


A Fading Face

by lonelyplanetboy



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Between Season One and Season Two, Gen, Pararibulitis (Dirk Gently), Todd and Farah on the run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26316472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyplanetboy/pseuds/lonelyplanetboy
Summary: He can see the face when he closes his eyes, the smile burned into the back of his brain. But the crispness of the image is fading, the colors fading from vibrance to greys. All Todd wants, more than anything, is to see the slowly fading face.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	A Fading Face

**Author's Note:**

> This won't make sense if you haven't seen Season Two because I skip a few show scenes that I didn't have anything new to add to. Takes place between Season One and Season Two. Enjoy!

*

On the morning after _that_ night, Todd Brotzman woke up with a stomach full of guilt and regret and one thought in his head. It was a face, but not the face of the person lying next to him in bed. No, Farah Black was not the face he saw when he closed his eyes, though by all rights, she should be. Instead, his head was filled with another face. The features were distinct but fuzzy with the time that had passed, not in a way that was inaccurate, surely, but merely in a way that demanded a refresher, his mind needing to see the face in real life or in a photo before the softness of his memory wore away more. He stared at the ceiling, frowning at the motel ceiling fan as if it were the correct recipient for his scrutiny. Less painful and accurate than looking in a mirror. 

He rolled out of bed and started fiddling with the coffee maker and complimentary motel coffee. He could hear her rustling around in the bed behind him. The thought of what they’d done filled his gut with a great unpleasantness that he couldn’t seem to separate from the face that continued to haunt his mind’s eye. 

It wasn’t—unenjoyable. Or that it had been bad. Far from it. But it felt more like a reckless hookup with a sort-of friend or a kind-of fan from the brief years that was a more-than-irregular occurrence in his life. Being deep in the garage band scene for all of his early and mid 20s would do that. Everyone then was hormonal and stupid, and he was not merely a product of that scene but one of the leaders. It all blew up in his face, of course, because of his own bad decisions. And since then he’d been a regular man who went on regular tindr dates with regular hookups and regular disappointments. This—was more like something the old Todd would do. Something he knew was a bad idea but was too tired and horny and lonely to think about critically until after the fact. 

Once the coffee was brewing, Todd went to the bathroom. He took a quick shower—they hadn’t had consistent access to them for the last few weeks. Feeling slightly refreshed, although wholly unable to look himself in the eyes in the grimy mirror, he stepped out of the bathroom. 

Farah was already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, drinking a cup of the coffee he’d brewed. “We should get going soon.”

He nodded, grateful she was as ready to not address it as he was. He thought about asking where they would be going on impulse before quickly deciding against it. Farah didn’t like discussing the “where” much. She always took deep breaths, reminding Todd that they were on the _run_ from the _FBI_ and the destination was _not being found._ Which made “where are we going” an absolutely infuriating question, second worst to “are we there yet.”

Instead he said, “Okay. Let’s raid the vending machine before we go. Stock up on trail mix.”

“Or m&m’s if we’re lucky,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “But… nothing too melty.”

“No more snickers,” he agreed.

“Not after last time.” 

Todd took a sip of his own coffee. “Do you think it was over the top to abandon the last car just because of the chocolate stains?”

She shook her head. “We needed to abandon that car anyways. The unfortunate incident with the snickers was just… a bit of encouragement.”

“The Universe telling us it was time, huh?”

“Something like that,” she said, eyes sad, setting down her coffee. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.”

*

The vending machine didn’t have trail mix, but they had peanut m&m’s and goldfish, both of which were not-melty enough Farrah and Todd agreed. It seemed everything was melting, least of all them, the hot summer of the American west amplified in their beat up car with no air conditioner. On top of that, they tended to sleep in the car, practically broiling on the hotter nights hidden in ditches on the side dirt roads. The night in a hotel had been a combination of a lot of desperation, one of the main and most nagging desires being to sleep in a bed with cool air blowing on their faces. Farah insisted they cover a certain amount of ground before they got “hotel privileges” and even after covering that distance they needed to find a hotel that would take cash and not ask questions. They’d been on the run for a little over a month and they’d only had “hotel privileges” four times, including the night before. 

Todd watched the landscape from the passenger seat, the foliage slowly growing unfamiliar. He thought it was possible they had traveled far enough to consider themselves in the mid-west by now. If not, they had to be edging on whatever that line was as the unfamiliarity grew. Certainly they were far from the west cost, from Seattle, from whatever was left of “home.” He closed his eyes, trying to imagine them getting closer too…

The face. Approachable and excited eyes, a round nose, and a small but kind smile. A small smile that could become big in an instant. Todd tried to focus on the face, but his concentration made the fuzziness of his memory worse. What color were the eyes? Brown? Deep blue? Now they looked black in his mind, colors fading from features. He shook his head, opening his eyes. 

“You okay?” Farah asked. She kept her eyes on the road but she seemed to notice Todd’s slouched sadness.

“We’ll find them, right?” Todd asked.

“Yes,” Farah said. “Yes, we’ll find Dirk and Amanda.”

“You don’t sound so confident.”

“No, no!” she said quickly. “We find Blackwing, we find Dirk, we find Amanda. Simple process.”

Todd looked out the window and didn’t say anything. 

Farah sighed. “I know you miss your sister and Dirk and you’re worried about them. I am too. But… this might take awhile, Todd. We don’t even know where Blackwing’s headquarters are. And once we get there, we’ll need some sort of plan… We still need to make sure we’re keeping the FBI off our tracks the whole time. It won’t… be easy.”

“But we can do it, right?” Todd said. “It won’t be easy… but it’s possible?”

This time Farah didn’t say anything, instead keeping her gaze focused steadily on the road.

Todd looked away, back out the window. “I just… want to see them.”

Farah’s voice was strained. “Me too, Todd. Me too.”

They traveled in silence until, about an hour later, they briefly started counting cows by the side of the road, before relapsing into silence. 

*

He had a pararibulitis attack that night. 

Thankfully, it was after they’d already parked and set up camp for the night, having found a ditch with enough brush surrounding it that the car was unnoticeable from the roadside. They’d agreed that Farah got to sleep lying down in the back that night and Todd would sleep in the passenger seat. The attack started slowly, as they oft did. He had rolled down the window and felt a cold breeze, a nice breeze. He made a comment about it to Farah. 

“Todd,” she said, “there’s no breeze.”

By then, he was enveloped in a cold wind, feeling his fingers become numb with the cold. Quickly catching on, she scrambled for his pills, rather, Amanda’s pills she’d left in his apartment. Farah tried handing a few to him, but he couldn’t feel his hands, the sudden frostbite having already set in. She pressed the pills against his lips one by one and he coughed, focusing on dry swallowing and trying to ignore the overwhelming coldness of his body. 

“Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay,” she reassured stiffly with eyes that didn’t seem to agree with her words. He coughed, his eyes squeezed shut, waiting for it to pass, waiting for his mind and his body to stop betraying him, for the medication to subdue the cold, for something. 

She was holding him steady now, gripping onto his forearms from the backseat. “You’re okay, Todd,” she said again. She squeezed his arm and he felt relieved to feel the warmth of her hands reaching his body. 

“Yeah.” He coughed a few more times and then smiled at her weakly, feeling returning to his face and hands. “Thank you.” He reached up and grabbed her hand, squeezing it with thawing fingers. She squeezed his hand back and gave him a tight smile. 

“You’re amazing,” he said.

She frowned. “Todd…”

“No, no, listen,” he said, sitting up in the chair. “You’ve dealt with this… whole situation better than probably anyone else on the planet could. I mean, what have I really contributed to this team? Since we lost Dirk, I’ve developed pararibulitis and a tendency to cry. You. You know. Roll with the punches. Got the pills. Stole some cars. I’d be dead from the government or an attack by now if it weren’t for you.”

“Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t be _dead_ ,” she said with a small smile.

“I’d be in much worse shape,” he returned. “So… thank you. Really.”

She nodded before turning away from him, but he could tell that she appreciated it. 

“Goodnight,” he said.

“Todd.”

“Yes?” Her tone was serious. He looked over his seat to the back of the car.

She was lying across the two seats staring at the car ceiling. “I don’t think I’m interested in continuing anything from last night.” 

There it was. He found himself letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“You’re a sweet guy and a nice friend,” she continued. “But… that wasn’t my wisest moment. Let’s not repeat it, okay?”

“Of course,” he said, almost too enthusiastically. “Just friends?”

“Just friends,” she agreed. 

“Plus, you’re way out of my league,” he pointed out. She snorted. “You’re not saying it isn’t true!” he laughed. 

“Well!” she said. And the two of them laughed about it for a moment—the ridiculousness of the whole scenario. What a strange duo they were, a recently unemployed bellhop and personal bodyguard together in a stolen car in a ditch in the middle of nowheresville, running for the government after committing to helping a holistic detective. Maybe it was sad, definitely it was funny. 

“Goodnight, Todd,” she said.

“Goodnight, Farah,” he smiled. 

He closed his eyes, feeling more relieved than he ever had in his life that a beautiful associate of his just wanted to be friends. All night, he dreamt of being reunited with him. He dreamt of seeing the slowly fading face. 

*

The next few days were as uneventful as they had been. Wake up, drive, carefully buy food at a gas station, drive, count more cows, drive, play the same 3 CDs that were in the car when they stole it, drive, sleep, wake up, and do it again. Pretend like it was all leading somewhere. 

“I’m getting sick of Simon and Garfunkel,” Todd admitted after they finished the CD for what must’ve been the 50th time. 

“At least it’s the ‘best of’ album, and not some sort of b-sides,” Farah pointed out. “Would you rather listen to the Duran Duran one again?”

“‘Big Thing?’ Nah. I’m not in the mood to listen to more euphemisms about Simon Le Bon’s…”

“Right,” Farah cut him off. 

They put Simon and Garfunkel on for another go. 

“Cows,” Todd said, pointing out the window.

“Do you mind if we stop at a public library soon?”

“Spotted ones,” he said. “Wait, what?”

“Just so I can check on things. I left my last burner phone a state over.”

“Sure,” he said. “You think a public library is our best bet?”

“We’ll be in and out,” she reassured him. “By the time they’ve realized anyone has accessed classified government information, we’ll be the next town over.”

“Sure,” he said. “Any reason why now?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “It’s too quiet. I don’t like it. We’ve made it all the way to Montana without issue for weeks? I need—to check in. For my own peace of mind.” 

“Fair enough.” It had been quiet, too quiet. The days and nights were passing without any real sense of distance or time being traveled through. The only real time tracker was the pit of worry in Todd’s stomach that grew every day they didn’t get anywhere, every day that they still had no leads on Dirk, Amanda, Blackwing, anything. And as the pit in his stomach grew, the face in his head faded. 

“Cows on the other side of the road, too,” Farah said with a nod of her head.

“Brown ones,” Todd replied.

“Spotted ones in the back.”

“Mmhm.” 

Todd leaned back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes, letting “The Sound of Silence” wash over him. He imagined what Dirk would say, something witty and scathing about Duran Duran and something nonsensical but enthusiastic about the cows? The eyes, shallow as they had become in his memory, were still warm and laughing. He hoped it wasn’t too late. 

*

The Harrisville Public Library’s vending machine was in bad shape. From the looks of it, whoever had installed it on the side of the building had forgotten about it long ago, and the few librarians and patrons hadn’t given it much thought besides the occasional and regrettable purchase of some expired Doritos. Todd poked at the keypad aimlessly, his eyes searching up and down. E1, E2, E3, empty. D1, D2, D3, gross. B1, B2, B3, oddly dusty. He decided cracked, dry wafers weren’t worth a dollar fifty and started steadily pacing back and forth, waiting for Farah to return from inside the library. He hoped the library was big enough to have a public computer lab. Or even just a single, old machine. As long as they had a computer, Farah could make it work. But Harrisville, a town that comprised just one street, seemed like the sort of place where they’d keep paper records of library check outs and returns. 

Figuring he couldn’t possibly go too far in a town that was a stretch of five blocks, Todd wandered past the library. There was the post office. A small antique store. A Dairy King. A joint fire and police station. Todd turned around quickly. 

He nearly ran into an older man who must’ve been standing behind him. “Watch it!” the man said sharply. Todd stepped backward quickly, mumbling an apology and trying to move past the man, eyes focused on the ground. 

“Wait!” The man held out an arm and stopped Todd. “Are you new ‘round here? I thought I’d known everyone in Harrisville.”

Todd looked up at the man, and that was his first mistake. He suddenly and inexplicably felt as if he was staring into the eyes of Donald Brotzman, his grandfather. Donald Brotzman, who had been dead for over ten years. Donald Brotzman, who had rarely crossed Todd’s mind since his death. Donald Brotzman, whose cause of death was ruled a heart attack. Donald Brotzman, who had died in what the family knew without a doubt was a pararibulitis attack.

“Hello there?”

Todd blinked.

This man was not his dead grandfather. He only resembled him, and resembled him less and less the more Todd looked. Donald Brotzman was dead, and Todd internally kicked himself for getting worked up about it in the first place.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just passing thru…”

“Todd!” 

Todd sighed in relief hearing Farah’s voice. “You have a lovely town,” he said to the man quickly, before turning around and practically running back to Farah and the car. 

Farah was already in the driver’s seat. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded as he slipped into the passenger side and pulled on his seat belt. “Conversing with the locals?”

“I didn’t mean to, alright? Let’s just get out of here,” he said. 

“I second that,” she said, pulling the car into drive. “There’s no way they _won’t_ trace that we’ve been here, between my hacking and your… you.”

“ _He_ stopped _me_ ,” Todd said in light protest. But he didn’t feel like arguing. Not only was Farah right—but her lecturing him about safety seemed better than the alternative, to still be standing with that man. Of course it couldn’t have been his grandfather. Of course he only resembled him. But now Donald Brotzman was in his head. Todd closed his eyes and saw the withered face, the face that his family had joked would be his one day, once he got old and wrinkly himself. Stern eyes, rarely smiling. Even in his mind’s eye, Donald Brotzman seemed disapproving. Todd tried to shoo him away, tried to refocus his thoughts on kind smiles and calm eyes. He tried to focus on the other face, the face that up until now had been all he could think about. But Donald Brotzman was persistent. 

“Bye bye, Harrisville,” Farah said as they pulled back onto the highway. “See you never.”

*

He had pararibulitis. And realistically, it was Donald Brotzman’s fault. 

Todd hadn’t really processed what it all _meant,_ besides some larger, universal karma. He was almost embarrassed realizing Donald Brotzman hadn’t crossed his mind once since he started having pararibulitis attacks until now, despite the fact that it was most definitely his grandfather he received the condition from. 

In his life, Donald Brotzman has been very reserved. Todd had known his maternal grandfather to be a quiet, short, stubborn, disapproving old man. He always seemed to be holding himself back, fragile and full of secrets. Most of this was excused on behalf of his condition.

Todd himself had been a loud and absurdly reckless adolescent, only in second place to his sister. Neither of them had gotten along well with their grandfather. As kids, Todd or Amanda would complain about the grandpa being no fun only to immediately regret it as their parents reminded them: Grandpa has pararibulitis, Grandpa can’t be as active as you guys, Grandpa needs to be careful to not over-exert himself or he’ll have an attack, Grandpa is a Gentle Thing and you children are Not. 

It was shortly after Donald Brotzman’s death that Todd decided to fake pararibulitis.

Stupid, stupid decision. But Todd was stupid. He’d seen his grandfather have attacks before, and God, everyone in his family had an _incredible_ knack for mentioning just _how_ much Todd resembled Donald, and wasn’t that so sweet, and maybe it could be sweet if he could get something out of it. It was time for Donald Brotzman’s pathetic and unimportant legacy to pay up. 

His parent’s reaction to his then-faked pararibulitis had been more major than he had expected, not that he minded at the time. They had always talked about his grandfather’s condition in a very matter-of-fact way. Of course it worried them, but Donald Brotzman could handle it. Even with his Aunt Ester, they stayed calm. Of course, she struggled, but she was an adult and could manage it. But Todd having it was a different matter. All he asked for was checks for medication. To his surprise, his parents hadn’t needed much convincing. They started sending him checks, telling him what medication he needed to ask his doctor for, sending him a note signed by them with their family’s history on it. 

With that sort of ammunition, Todd easily _could_ have gotten the medication, but he didn’t. In fact, he was sure he’d lost the doctor’s note his parents had sent him after a week. It wasn’t as if he wanted a record of how long it had been in the family, how it had killed his grandfather and was slowly killing his aunt. It was just depressing. 

*

"So," Farah said in the casual way that meant she wasn't feeling causal at all. "Do you mind if we stop and see my brother?"

"What? Are you... joking?" Farah wasn't a particularly funny person and Todd was still trying to figure out what made her laugh. This, however, seemed a bit out of left field.

"No," she said evenly. "I've been using his logins when trying to find leads on Dirk. There was some indication Blackwing had a connection in Montana. And he’s currently living in Idaho. Not far.”

"You know," Todd said, trying to sound as casual as Farah did, "you have literally never mentioned you had a brother before." The panic seeped into his voice with the last few words.

"How did you think I was getting information directly from government websites?"

"I guess I wasn't--I wasn't thinking about that?"

“Well.” She paused, seeming tense. “I have a brother. Eddie. He works in the Department of Homeland Security. He certainly doesn't have full clearance, especially since the people at the very top are trying to cover up Blackwing. But it's the only way to get any sort of lead."

"And now the lead is Montana."

"Yes."

"And we're going to meet your brother in Montana."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Farah paused and sighed. "Just--Just so he knows I'm okay."

Todd felt the urge to argue but was sure that if Farah had her mind made up on this there would be no way to talk her out of it. "Okay," he said. "Where are we going to meet him?"

"It's a very small town," she said. "Should be safe. I had never heard of it myself until I got his email. It's called Bergsberg."

*

Bergsberg was small, just as Farah had promised. The only real evidence they had arrived anywhere that wasn't just another long stretch of highway cut out of fields of grain was a faded sign they had passed a few miles back, touting the name with the promise "when you're here, you're gone." Ominous, Todd had thought. But perhaps just what they needed.

They drove down the highway for a long stretch before Farah pulled over onto the side. “This is where he said to meet.”

On the side of the road was an old sailboat, red and white paint chipping sadly off the sides. It was huge and placed almost abstractly in the field, as if it were abandoned, a half-thought out idea for some strange art installation that had never fully come to life and would never get the chance to. Despite the incomplete feeling the boat had, situated as it were, it controlled the space it contained. It was big. And it was strange. Todd felt uncomfortable looking at it.

“What… what is that?” Farah didn’t respond, looking out at the boat herself and shaking her head. “You’re sure this isn’t a trap? You’re sure we can trust him?” Todd asked, feeling the panic about this strange brother rising in his chest again.

“He’s my brother.”

“So… that means…” Todd asked, still not sure.

Farah shook her head, avoiding Todd's eyes. “I don’t know. Yes? I hope so.”

Todd frowned. “Don’t let him get to you. Okay? We’re too close now.” Close to what, he wasn’t sure. Close to the lead Farah had, maybe. Close to finding their friends, hopefully. He hoped she understood what he meant.

Farah looked at him and nodded. She reached out and patted his hand in re-assurance before stepping out of the car. Todd watched as she walked away, becoming smaller and smaller as she got closer to the boat before she finally disappeared behind it. And then he was alone.

He hadn't been alone at all since this had started. And certainly he hadn't been alone while Farah had been visiting someone else. It was strange--he didn't know what to do, what to think about, what to concentrate on. He closed his eyes. _Dirk_. He could feel all of his fear and hopes and energy holding onto the hope that Dirk was going to be here, in Bergsberg or somewhere close by. Montana was a large state, if he was remembering correctly from the maps they'd try to get kids to memorize. But it couldn't be that big. They'd find him. They had to. 

He shook his head and picked up the pill bottle they'd gotten from Amanda, trying to focus on anything else. It had been getting lighter and lighter and he'd been trying not to notice how every time he picked it up, it reminded him that they were running out. Running out of pills, running out of hope, running out of time. He poured out the remaining pills in the bottle. There were only four of the red capsules left. "Shit," he muttered to himself before pouring them back in.

He was trying to doze off, to keep his thoughts off of the pills, off of whatever Farah had gotten herself into with her brother, off of the fact that both Dirk and Amanda were still missing, off of the fact that Amanda had called _him_ , when he saw the cop car in the car’s side view mirror.

"Shit," he said again.

He quickly put on his sunglasses and pushed his seat back, slouching down so he'd be--if not unnoticeable--at least unrecognizable from the view of the cop car. He held his breath, waiting for the car to drive past him when.... it didn't.

“Step out of the car, please.” It came from a megaphone attached to the police car. Todd took a deep breath. He sat up in his seat, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the door.

The officer met him outside the car. He nodded at Todd, his eyes unreadable. Todd felt his head spinning, knowing this wasn't good but hoping that with mild cooperation he could get out of this quickly, before Farah even got back with any hope. He felt himself anticipating a sharp and devastating blow from the officer, a witty one-liner about how the game was up or something of that nature. He was not prepared at all for what the officer actually said.

"You look cool."

*

His attack continued after Farah had shoved him into the car and started driving away at levels that certainly would have gotten them pulled over again. He felt like crying or screaming but couldn't do either with the amount of _flies_ on his _face_.

"This is okay!” Farah shouted, presumably more for her sake than his. Despite knowing he was having an attack, Todd kept swiping at his face, trying to get the flies off of himself. The buzzing in his ears was unbearable as he felt their little legs all over his face, their little wings flying around him. “We are doing just… just fine!” she declared again. He coughed, feeling their tiny legs crawl out of his mouth like little hairs caught in his throat. He was going to die, he thought. He had made it this far but he was going to die, like this, shoved awkwardly into the passenger seat of a stolen car somewhere in Montana choking on flies. 

He felt an overwhelming sense that he was a disappointment, that he had let down everyone who needed him. He wasn’t ever helpful enough to Farah throughout this whole ordeal. He never called his parents or any of his family and apologized. And--Amanda. She was out there, somewhere, and she needed him. She was so strong, in a way that he hadn’t been able to realize before he’d had pararibulitis. She was so strong and he was going to die choking on flies. 

And then there was the last thing weighing heavily on him. _Dirk._ He needed to see Dirk, he wanted to see Dirk so badly again. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get his mind off of the flies, off of his disappointment, off of the fact that he still couldn’t breathe properly… He tried to imagine what it would be like to see him again. Dirk would smile, and his eyes would light up like they did when he was excited about something, and maybe he’d start talking kind of fast and nonsensically but very sweetly. Dirk’s face had become merely light and shadows in his mind, but the smile was something he felt rather than saw. Dirk wasn’t someone you looked at, he was someone you experienced. 

“Todd?” Farah’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. 

He opened his eyes. The flies were gone, but he could still feel where they had rubbed up against his skin. He’d stopped choking on every breath, but he could still feel the inflammation in his throat. But he wasn’t dead, and that was some amount of comfort. 

_Dirk_ , he thought.

“Why isn’t the car moving?” he asked instead.

“We’re staying at a hotel,” Farah said grimly. “You need to rest after that attack.”

“I’m fine,” he argued, sitting up in the passenger seat. Blood rushed to his head and he let out a small cry. 

“You should rest,” she said, and there was something sad and dark in her eyes that told him not to argue, that she needed to rest as much as he did. 

“Yeah,” he said.

“I’ll go reserve a room,” she said, getting out of the car. 

“Yeah,” he said.

 _Dirk_ , he thought. 

*

Farah thought he was losing it. And maybe he was.

The last few days had been incredibly stressful. Between the man who looked like his grandfather, Eddie Black, and having an attack in front of a cop... He wasn't letting himself focus on any of that. He _couldn't_ focus on any of that because if he did he would just slip away into the fear and panic and hopelessness of the situation. As stressed as he was, he was sure Farah was equally or more stressed. She seemed more strained, like she was trying to pull away from this, from him, from everything. And that in itself was stressful. Todd found himself doubling down on enthusiasm to make up for it.

Farah had driven them to the one location she had found with a Blackwing connection and was trailing behind Todd as he explored, trying to find something, anything, that had some sort of lead. The house had been locked, but the barn had its door propped open and Todd had barged in.

"Okay--it’s wet,” he announced, pointing to the wall on the barn when Farah walked in behind him. “It’s wet. This is a wet… thing. This is a thing, right?" he asked. She didn't say anything, so he asked again. “Why else would there be water here?” It didn’t seem like flooding, flood waters wouldn’t go up the wall like that. It had to mean _something_. 

He was trying to sound confident, trying to convince himself. Because if he was right, then they were close. Close to their friends. And then it wouldn't just be vague traces of Dirk's face in his mind's eye and the short fragment of Amanda's call playing on repeat. Then they would be _there_ . Dirk would be _real again_.

The search was leaving him feeling more disconnected from reality than ever before.

Farah looked tired. “What does any of this have to do with Dirk or Blackwing?”

“I don’t know, but this is it, this is special,” Todd insisted. “This is a _thing_. And--and then another thing and then--BAM!” He threw his arms up. “It all connects. We’re close, we are so close, we are like…” He held his fingers apart. “...this close!”

Farah spoke calmly, her voice steady but her eyes not. “You’re holding your fingers pretty far apart.” She took a deep breath, but her calm was fading. “Todd… This place is abandoned,” she said softly, regarding him almost sadly. “There’s no way into the house other than breaking in.”

“Well then let’s break in!” he said quickly. He couldn’t give up. She could but he wouldn’t give up.

“No, no!” she shouted. “I have broken _enough_ laws tonight and I don’t want to risk setting off an alarm.”

“You don’t want to risk it?” he asked, feeling exasperated. “Look at where we are. We’re _here_ . This is something. This is _connected_!”

“Todd, we _barely_ escaped Blackwing in Seattle--”

"Look! A rabbit!" he cut her off, noticing the bunny outside the barn. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

She sighed deeply, irritation seeping into her voice. “It’s a rabbit.”

But her words meant little to him--it was possible, after all, wasn't it? After Lydia and the dog, after the strange cult switching bodies. Why couldn't Dirk be in the rabbit? There would hardly be any way of knowing.

He chased after the rabbit--he had found that strangely moving around, focusing on one thing, it gave him a greater sense of purpose. He didn't feel like he was lost, like he had traveled hundreds of miles on the run from the government for reasons he still wasn't clear on, like he had lost touch with his sister and his best friend in one night, like he had a disease that meant he could be on fire or have snakes coming out of his ears if he got himself too worked up. None of those things flitted across his brain when he focused on the rabbit.

He chased the rabbit out of the gravel driveway and into the nearby pasture. The grass was tall, uncut, and wild. He held still when he lost track of the rabbit in the grass, listening for the noise of the creature between the rustling of grass and wildflowers. When he thought he heard it, he dashed forward, and the chase was on again. The rabbit, although not smart, was quick, and continued to evade capture. Nonetheless, Todd was persistent.

He thought he might've heard Farah yelling at him from a distance, but he had blocked it out to continue to focus on the rabbit noises. Time, like Farah's voice, began to melt away as he concentrated. He closed his eyes, trying to picture where the rabbit might be in relation to him, trying to listen for a squirming in the grass, trying to bring life back to Dirk's eyes in his head. Then he'd hear a sound and follow. He'd lost track of whether or not he was even following a rabbit. His eyes had mostly adjusted to the dark, but it was nearly impossible to make out rabbit fur against the long plant life he waded his way through. He tried to rely on his ears--hearing a noise, following the noise. But he hadn't seen the rabbit itself in awhile. The hopelessness he'd managed to push aside while focusing on the rabbit started to set in again, creating a pit in his stomach. He sighed, closing his eyes and sitting down, giving himself a second to breathe. 

"Todd!" Farah had finally caught up to him.

“Oh!” he shot up from where he had been sitting. “Great, you caught up. Did you see where it went? It was somewhere around here.”

“Todd," Farah said, her voice strained, her eyes tired. "I have been looking for you for _five_ hours.”

“Farah, don’t be ridiculous, it was…” He checked his watch and absentmindedly finished, “seven. Oh!" He ran ahead of her, pointing at a lone tree in the field. "Maybe the tree!" He turned back to her. "Help me climb the tree!”

“Todd, stop!" she shouted. "Stop!”

And, for a moment, he did.

*

When Todd had been six years old, Donald Brotzman had told him a bedtime story.

"Once upon a time," he had said, "There was a little blackbird. He was always a good little bird. He flew around with his bird friends. He ate worms. He did bird things.”

“I like birds,” Todd commented, enthusiastically but absentmindedly. 

"Sure you do,” his grandfather smiled. “But this little blackbird had a problem. This little bird would, on occasion, lie to his family, to the other birds.

"It would start off with little lies. He would say he only caught one worm, to cover up the fact that he caught two that day but ate them both greedily, not sharing with his brother and sister birds. Then it escalated. He lied about having the bird flu so the other birds would do favors for him.”

“Did they believe him?”

“Yes, they did at first. But the other birds got tired of it. They started to suspect the little blackbird was lying. They stopped helping him and noticed he was fine. They decided to get new bird friends and soon the little bird was all alone.”

“That’s not a very good story, Grandpa.”

"It’s not done. You see, Todd, one day all of his lying caught up with him. The bird did get sick. The bird got very, very sick. The little blackbird could no longer use its wings. They stiffened up one day, becoming hard as rocks. Suddenly, the little bird needed help from his family and his friends. But they were gone. All gone. And he was alone.”

"What happened to the bird, Grandpa?" Todd asked.

Donald Brotzman shrugged. "He was all alone with no one to take care of him. He had to choose between losing his wings and the ability to ever see his friends again or dying."

"And what did he choose?"

Donald Brotzman looked sad. "He…” Suddenly, a panicked look came over his face and he let out a loud gasp. “Oh god." He stood up quickly, shaking. "Goodnight, Todd." He quickly hurried out of the room. The next things Todd heard was his grandpa shouting out, a loud crash, his mother screaming, and the sounds of footsteps on the stairs.

His parents told him it wasn't his fault grandpa had an attack. But Donald Brotzman never told him a goodnight story again.

*

"I’m free… I'm free!" 

The man who had stumbled out of the trunk let out a wild laugh before spinning around to face Todd and Farah. He was wearing a strange jumpsuit, grey with an orange stripe across the front and seemed to have gotten wet somehow, both his hair and the jumpsuit covered in darker, damp patches. His face was slightly confused but filled with delight, a giant grin spread across his face. And it was him. It was entirely, impossibly, and undoubtedly Dirk.

“Oh my God!” Dirk shouted, pointing at them. His already huge smile grew even bigger.

Todd felt his own face twist into a grin. “Dirk!” he shouted. There he was! There he _was_ . Todd let out a scream of excitement. Dirk screamed back. The two whooped and hollered in excitement, bouncing up and down, jumping into a hug. Todd wrapped his arms around him, and it was _him_ , he was _there_ , it was Dirk and he was smiling and hugging him and it wasn't just something in his head. Dirk pulled away from him, smiling, turning to Farah and patting her on the shoulder endearingly. His eyes sparkled and Todd felt a warmth spread across his chest that he hadn't felt in months. He smiled back, blinking, knowing that Dirk's face was just as warm and vibrant in his mind's eye as it was in real life.

The fading face was back. _Dirk_ was back.

Things were going to be okay.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Aunt Ester is the only other Brotzman we learn of who has pararibulitus but I think it's likely there would've been a grandparent or great grandparent. Cue Donald Brotzman. I have a larger post Season Two idea I'm working on where he plays a small but essential background role, so if I ever finish that fic, I'll put this one in a series with it or something. 
> 
> I feel like the ending came a bit suddenly but I didn't really want to rewrite that full scene from the show where Todd and Farah open the trunk, etc, just because I didn't have much to add to it. It's one of my very favorite scenes but I tried to only lift from the show if I had something I could bring to the the table. 
> 
> Also, oops, I did add my own illustration which means that everyone who knows me from my real life knows this is me now. Hi mom!


End file.
